


softly, warmly, wantingly

by astrogeny



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/F, reclassing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 16:36:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5974225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrogeny/pseuds/astrogeny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watching Sumia work, Lissa notes the way in which she holds her body in on itself, like she’s afraid of taking up too much space.  How can Sumia think herself so gawky when she’s so tall and slender and soft, with those tumbles of hair and warm brown eyes?  Lissa wonders if this is how Maribelle sees her, as above all her self-proclaimed faults.</p>
            </blockquote>





	softly, warmly, wantingly

**Author's Note:**

> finally, the second req for femslash fest. i was sort of going for a locker room Big Bi Awakening feel here on lissa’s end, born out of admiration for sumia and the gentle intimacy of the two of them armoring up together. i tried to stick in some thoughts abt a healer unit taking up combat for the first time, thoughts that probs deserve their own fic. i imagine galeforce is some sort of concert maneuver pegasus knights do, hence lissa’s reclass for the pre-kids galeforce grind www i also continue to stan for tall sumia and her gorgeous hair.

Sumia changes with her back turned, and so Lissa does the same.  Out of courtesy, she supposes, wondering when exactly she started to care about propriety.  Not that she’d run around the palace in her underwear, but she feels a nervous energy that has not always been in her, thinking about Sumia’s soft eyes on her half-dressed body.

Then again, it might be better that Sumia doesn’t see her struggling to cram her legs into the standard-issue thigh-high boots without wrinkling the cream leggings beneath them.  They’re more like chaps, really, stiff with newness.  Lissa almost misses her crinoline.

“How’s it coming along?” Sumia chirps from somewhere behind her.

“It’s not really coming along, period,” Lissa admits, disgruntled.  She’d jumped at the offer when Robin asked if any of the other female Shepherds would be interested in learning the pegasus knights’ more advanced maneuvers, but if she’s having this much trouble getting dressed, she can only imagine what getting onto a pegasus will be like.

“I didn’t pick the wrong size out for you, did I?  I hope not–you’re the perfect size to be a pegasus knight.”  Lissa sneaks a glance over her shoulder to see Sumia worrying at her lower lip with her teeth.  She’s never considered that there’s a “proper” height for pegasus knights to begin with, but the obvious, unspoken message is that Sumia is not that height in the least.  Eyeballing it, Lissa imagines that the top of her head would probably fit right under Sumia’s chin.  Not that it would have any real reason to be there, but it would be a neat fit.

“The size,” Lissa grouses, her words halting as she continues to cram herself into the chaps, “Is fine, it’s just that this stupid leather is stiffer than Frederick’s posture!”  Sumia giggles mirthfully at the comparison as Lissa finally manages to wrangle the uniform into as good a state as it’s going to get, smoothing down the tunic with an irked grumble.

“Well, I don’t mean to rain even more on your parade, but the armor comes next.”  Sumia gingerly lifts a breastplate off a nearby bench and offers it to Lissa.  Lissa turns to accept it, and even though she’s braced herself for the weight, it’s heavier than she’d anticipated.  

She’s never worn armor of any kind before, she realizes.  Even though she’s put on all sorts of vests and dresses and corsets, Lissa fumbles with the ties on the back of the breastplate.  She can’t for the life of her figure out why she’s suddenly forgotten how to get dressed like a competent person, whether it comes from a noble nervousness in the face of combat or her decidedly less poetic excitement at being alone with Sumia in a changing room.

“Would you like help?” Sumia asks shyly, circling around to stand behind Lissa.  

Lissa sighs, “Apparently.  Sheesh, you’d think I could dress myself after having to put on my own silly cleric’s getup every single day.”  Obligingly, Sumia takes the laces from Lissa’s hands and begins to tie them in a surprisingly businesslike fashion.  Their knuckles brush, and Lissa nearly jumps a foot, arms shooting down to her sides like a knight on the parade ground.  She can feel a flush covering her cheeks, washing down to her throat, utterly irrational.  While she’d managed years ago to convince Frederick and Emm that she no longer needed maids to dress her, Lissa is reasonably certain it wasn’t because she might have wanted the maids to undress her instead.

“I’d wanted to be a cleric myself, once,” admits Sumia softly.  "I thought I might make a living caring for other people’s mounts, instead of riding my own.“

"What changed your mind?  I think you’d have been great at it.”

“Oh, well, you know me.  People would’ve spent all their time fixing me up from scrapes, instead of the other way around.”  With a final, decisive knot, Sumia finishes cinching up the breastplate.  "It’s not too tight or anything, is it?“

Lissa flexes her shoulders, unaccustomed to both the restriction and the protection.  The metal weighs oddly heavy over her now-armored heart.

"Seems okay to me!  Maybe I can do yours up or something, just for practice?”  Just for practice, Lissa insists firmly to herself.

Sumia laughs, then, a little noise that comes from someplace warm and clear in her throat.  "Getting ready with someone else like this reminds me a lot of my trainee days, actually!  Well, minus the part where I used to tie my own hair in with my breastplate’s laces so tightly that I had to cut it out.“  Imagining Sumia cheerily sliding her thin-strapped tunic from her shoulders, Lissa develops a sudden and intense interest in pegasus knight training.

"Uh…  You might want to pull that hair up, first,” Lissa suggests with slight apprehension.  Sumia nods in abashed agreement, then begins to sweep her hair up into a surprisingly elaborate bun at the nape of her neck.  

Lissa is amazed by how pretty it looks, Sumia’s smoky curls twining around her fingers without so much as a hint of her normal gracelessness.  It makes her self-conscious of her own hair, which sticks every which way in uneven layers instead of falling in soft waves.  She never does anything nice with it, and her pigtails aren’t even the same size half the time.  Watching Sumia work, Lissa notes the way in which she holds her body in on itself, like she’s afraid of taking up too much space.  How can Sumia think herself so gawky when she’s so tall and slender and soft, with those tumbles of hair and warm brown eyes?  Lissa wonders if this is how Maribelle sees her, as above all her self-proclaimed faults.  The thought is one she quickly forces away–it borders too closely on outright saying she has a crush on Sumia, and for such a shallow reason as thinking Sumia is beautiful and endearing and an amazing pegasus knight to boot.

Sumia at last finishes pulling her hair up, but a single strand has already escaped its pins to trail down her back.  It’s the thin, flyaway kind of hair that clings so stubbornly to the gentle curve of Sumia’s long neck.  

“Sumia?”  Lissa blurts before she can stop herself.  "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, here, but you missed a spot.“  Sumia groans in dismay, and starts to undo the whole thing, apologizing profusely as she does so.

"I’m so sorry for making this take absolutely forever and wasting a princess’ valuable time and–”

“It’s not a waste of my time!” cutting Sumia off with more impatience than she means.  It’s not Sumia’s clumsiness that irks Lissa, but rather her implicit insistence that she is nothing more than a bother.  "I’m having a good time with you, okay?  We can just stuff that one little hair back into your bun-thingy and be done with it, right?“

"Uh.  I didn’t even think of that,” admits Sumia bashfully.  Lissa actually has to stand on her toes just a bit to get a clear view of Sumia’s hairstyle and how to fix it.  It takes Sumia a moment to realize this, and in response, she squats a little bit, placing the back of her head level with Lissa’s face.  The pose is absolutely ridiculous.  Sumia giggles nervously at the sheer awkwardness of it all, and that has Lissa chuckling back until a snort slips out amidst her laughter.  Then they’re both laughing, which provides a neat excuse for the flush across Lissa’s cheeks and the matching color rising in Sumia’s.

The offending strand of hair is crammed back into Sumia’s bun, and Lissa finally proceeds to lace up Sumia’s breastplate.  It’s much easier when you can actually see what you’re doing, Lissa considers, feeling extra-stupid for needing Sumia to do something so simple for her.  For wanting Sumia to do something so simple for her, maybe.

With both of them armored, Sumia draws away from Lissa to take a blunted practice lance from a nearby rack of them.  

“Here you are,” she says with a shy smile, as if she’s giving Lissa a bouquet instead of a mock weapon.  Lissa accepts the lance, taking care to avoid brushing her fingers against Sumia’s.  She holds it like a staff though she knows her form is wrong–it’s far heavier than even a jewel-encrusted Fortify stave.  Lissa has a new appreciation for the fact that Sumia holds real lances with one hand.  While that level of strength seems natural for someone big and strong like Frederick or Sully, Sumia is still a soldier, and Lissa is not.  Not yet.


End file.
